Just a Receptionist
by Shelby Bean
Summary: A young woman relates the story of when she was confronted by two "agents" looking for the source behind a ghost story in the small-town newspaper where she worked. This is part of an ongoing story collection where we get a glimpse at someone who was helped by Sam & Dean through the years. I put a little easter egg in this story, bonus points if you catch it!
1. Chapter 1

To: Susan Asimov  
>Re: haunting on Spring Street?<p>

Sorry I took so long to respond. I was a little surprised to get your email, no one has asked about that incident in quite a while. I shouldn't be surprised that you found me, though! I used to work for a newspaper myself, so I know how it goes. Hard to believe it's been four years.

I guess I should start the first time I saw them. I was at work, manning the reception desk as usual. They strode in through the door in their cheap suits like they owned the place. My instincts perked up right away. The taller one looked the place over with a trained eye. He was attractive, well built, and had longer hair than any federal officer should. His partner approached the counter and flashed his badge. He was also very good looking; some people would call him a pretty boy, but he had a harness underneath. I was just a little nervous of the two of them.

They had come to ask about a story the paper had printed earlier in the week. They weren't the first ones to come digging about. It was a local piece that had gained sort of a human interest appeal, and had eventually gotten picked up by some national papers. Like everyone else, these men wanted to know who was the anonymous source behind the story. I played dumb. Most people fell for it; I was a young blonde girl with an innocent smile. I offered to take their contact info and pass it on to the writer when he got back from lunch.

Somehow I knew they weren't buying my act. The tall one came closer and reminded me that impeding a federal case was a serious crime. I asked to see their badges again. Of course they complied, but not without a weighty glance between them. We were at a draw.

The pretty one flirted with me to ease the tension. He wrote their motel on the back of his card, and asked me to hang on to it. Just in case. Despite my suspicions, I blushed when he winked at me.

What they didn't know, what no one knew except the writer, is that I was the anonymous source behind that story. When the strange occurrences began, I had to tell someone, and working with a bunch of reporters is not the best way to keep your privacy. Eventually I decided to confide in Jeffery.

I first hinted at the story when a few of us were having some beers after work. Jeffery had always been kind to me, which I couldn't say about most of our coworkers. He was not much older than me, but he had already worked at the paper for ten years. He had only been promoted a few months prior, and was in desperate need of a big story. Over a few more beers, he convinced me to tell him everything, under the condition that he would keep my name out of it.

That weekend we met up at a park, and Jeffery listened to my story while his kids played. I spilled everything to him. I told him about the noises in my apartment, and how things would not be where I left them. I told him about the strange way my roommate had been acting. I even told him about the figure I thought I saw from the corner of my eye in the bathroom mirror. Somehow it was easier to talk about in the bright sunshine with the sound of children laughing.

He had done a little research of his own. I was impressed at what he'd found. He showed me old articles about a missing woman, and mysterious deaths in years past. We couldn't make sense of it, but it was enough. He put together a spooky yet believable story, hinting that a ghost might be to blame.

It could have been a coincidence, or my subconscious, but the weird occurances stopped for a while after the story broke. Maybe I had imagined the whole thing after all. Then the questions came. Big city papers wanted in on it. Some news channels offered a nice cash bonus for an interview. Jeffery never told on me, bless his heart.

The worst part came when the story started to die down. It had been a few days since the person had come digging, and I went home after a long Saturday shift. My roommate asked what I was doing back already. I remember standing in the foyer, staring at her for the longest time, completely baffled. She could have sworn I had just come and gone not ten minutes ago. My stomach turned to ice.

A few days later, I had planned to meet a friend at the movies, and he didn't show. When I called to check if he was running late, he cussed me out. He was furious, saying that he refused to waste his time on someone who was two-faced and treated him like dirt. He hung up on me before I could figure out what I had supposedly done.

So when those two "agents" came asking for the source of that spooky story, I almost told them the truth. I was confused and afraid, and the whole thing was so bizarre that I couldn't talk to anyone about it. Somehow I made it through the rest of that day.

On the way home, I found myself making a slight detour. Maybe I was just checking on the truth of their story. Before I could think about it, I was pulling into the parking lot of a skeevy motel in the bad part of town. I sat in my car, my feet rooted in place by fear and doubt. I told myself that it was pointless to talk to them. They were obviously con artists, but at worst they might work for channel six. Finally I convinced myself to get the hell out of there and just go home.

The knock on my car window scared me half to death. Pretty boy was looking down at me with the most smug grin on his face. He motioned for me to get out.

He leaned on my car, looking out across the parking lot as I opened the door and joined him. I remember how his whole demeanor was different than before, more relaxed. It was the strangest thing, but he actually put me at ease. He said "you ready to talk?" I just nodded, and followed him into the motel. His partner was inside, and started to speak before he noticed I was there. Pretty boy interrupted with "we've got company."

The taller man stood up when he saw me, whether out of courtesy or surprise, I don't know. He looked just as confused at my being there, as I was. He pulled out a chair for me. I must have rambled on, something along the lines of "you would never believe the things that are happening to me."

He said "we might surprise you." Funny how clear that moment has stayed in my mind, I can still picture it like it was five minutes ago. There was a kindness in his eyes, an understanding. It wasn't long before I told them everything.

When I was done, they got started. I remember talk of spirits and shape shifters, and lots of other things that couldn't be real. They offered me a beer as they compared old books and internet pages. It was absolutely crazy. I decided to excuse myself before I had a nervous breakdown in front of them.

The pretty one offered to take me home. My mother always warned me to never get a car with a stranger, but that night I must have thrown all logic to the wind. I left my car at the motel and got in his big old gas guzzler. That's another thing that stands out in my mind; he seemed almost offended when I teased him about fuel mileage. At my place, he walked me to the door, and asked if I would feel safer if he came inside. Common sense finally returned, and I politely declined. My roommate was home, so I wouldn't be alone. He promised to be in touch as soon as they knew anything.

For the sake of transparency, I'll admit I let my good sense slide just long enough to kiss him goodnight. Heaven knows what was wrong with me that day!

I probably should have taken him up on it, because my roommate was acting weird as soon as I came inside. She started shouting at me, accusing me of lying to her. At one point she even told me that she might start looking at other places to live. I couldn't make any sense of it, and she kept getting more upset and more offended when I tried to get her to explain. It ended in a huge spat where I slammed doors and she left.

When I was alone, all the strangeness of the day caught up with me. It had been too much to process, I was exhausted, and the alcohol was catching up with me. I headed to bed. After changing into some yoga pants and an oversized tshirt, I went to my room. I was not alone.


	2. Chapter 2

Do you ever get that prickly feeling on the back of your neck? That feeling like somebody is watching you? I was hit by that sensation as I walked into my bedroom. Looking around, the room appeared to be empty.

Any other day, I would have talked myself out of it. The rational part of my mind would have been able to convince me that I was just imagining things. Not that day. After all the strange things I'd heard, I listened to my gut instinct, and ran for the phone. I dug the FBI business card from my purse and dialed the number.

It only rang once. "Yep," a man's voice answered. Not very professional.

"There's someone here," I whispered.

Through the phone, I clearly heard the sound of a chair scraping across the floor. "On our way. Do you have salt?"

Even in my panic, I knew that was a weird question. "Of course, why?"

"Make a circle with the salt, and get inside it. We'll be there soon. Don't leave the circle." With that, he hung up. I ran to the kitchen, my socks sliding a bit on the smooth tiles. I twisted the lid off the salt shaker and dumped it in a crude circle around myself. Then I sat down crossed-legged to wait.

As I sat on the hard kitchen floor, I began to feel silly. What was I doing? How would salt protect me from anything, really? What sort of person calls a stranger instead of the police when they think an intruder is in their home? Maybe I should just leave. Nothing attacked me, and I felt more and more foolish as I waited. Then I heard the creak of wood. My head whipped around, looking for the source of the sound. Another creak. Someone was coming down the hallway.

I rose to my feet, still clutching the half-empty salt container in my hands. Creak. "I have a weapon, and I'm not afraid to use it!" I called out. Someone chuckled, making my heart leap right up into my throat. It got worse when my eyes began to focus on a figure standing in the shadows. I squinted, cursing myself that I hadn't turned on every light in the entire place. Then the figure took a step closer. It looked like a young woman. She looked too real to be a ghost, but there was something off about her. Somehow she looked familiar. Her lips twisted into a horrible smile.

"I already called the cops!" I threatened.

"No you didn't," she taunted, keeping that cruel smile on her face.

Do ghosts even talk? I held my ground. "They're on the way now. You should go."

She walked closer. "I know who you called, and it wasn't any cop. Much worse, in fact. Which is why we need to hurry." She was standing right across the salt line now. It finally hit me why her face was so familiar. It was mine.

"What are you?" It was very strange, talking to myself like that.

"I will be you, honey, as soon as we're through here." She stepped over the salt line and grabbed me by the throat. Just then, we both heard the sound of a car engine. She growled, and tossed me across the room. I still don't understand how; she was exactly my height and weight, yet she flung me like I was no heavier than a tennis ball. I went right over the counter to the living room.

I must have blacked out for a second when I landed. The next thing I remember is the sound of splintering wood. From my vantage point on the floor, I saw the front door slam open. My heroes had arrived.

The room swam as I was dragged to my feet. She pulled me backward, her strong fingers clenched around my upper arm. "Winchesters," she said distastefully. They both had guns pointed at us. I felt something cold against my throat.

"Let her go," pretty boy shouted. His tone was frightening; I was glad his anger wasn't directed at me.

She gave an offended laugh. "Why should I? So you can kill me?"

"Works for me."

"You are really full of yourself. No. I have a better idea. How about you lose the guns?" I realized she was holding a knife to my throat, as she pressed it a little harder, making me gasp in fear. I was nearly standing on tiptoe to keep from being cut.

The guns didn't budge. "You're not getting out of this," the taller one threatened. "It's over."

For a long moment, it was a standoff, with me at the center. "No," she finally said. "You're too good to let an innocent girl die just to take me down." She put a tiny bit of pressure on the blade until II felt it cut into my skin, and I cried out from the pain. "Drop your weapons, boys. I won't ask again." I closed my eyes.

"Sam?" I heard one gun land on the carpeted floor, then another. "Alright, now let her go."

"Wow, you two are even dumber than I'd heard. Best of luck."

I felt a strange, burning sensation on my neck. My vision went hazy for a second, and I heard distant shouting. When my eyes focused again, the tall one was gone, but the pretty one hadn't moved. The look on his face confused me. I felt something warm pouring down my chest, which seemed odd. Nothing was making sense. I opened my mouth to ask a question, but my voice would not come out. "What's happening?" It came out as barely a wheeze. I raised a hand to my throat, and my fingers came away wet and sticky. Red.

He caught me as I fell to my knees. "It's okay, you'll be alright," he said over and over. Distantly, I understood he was trying to comfort me. He propped me up with my back against the couch and pressed a handkerchief to my throat. That's when it started to hurt. I began to get scared. My legs scrambled against the floor and I tried to push him away. He kept one hand at my throat, and the other firmly behind my head. "You're fine, hey, I've got you," he kept saying. I could taste blood in my mouth. "Damn it Cas, hurry up," he shouted at the ceiling.

I felt my left hand go numb, and I lost my grip on his forearm. Then my right hand, which had a fistful of his shirt, dropped away uselessly. "Help me," I mouthed silently. Next I lost the feeling in my legs.

He was inches from my face, his eyes pleading, but angry. "Come on now, stay with me, just hang on." I was too weak to move, so I just watched those sad, lovely green eyes, as the room grew dark around us.

I was dead. No matter what anyone tries to say, I know what happened. I bled to death in that man's arms. It wasn't a near-death experience, or a close call. I died.

Then something pulled me back. I felt an excruciating pain. It burned cold, like frostbite. My eyes shot open, but I couldn't see, everything was too bright, like a blue flame. Blood rushed back into my limbs, worse than the worst case of pins and needles you can imagine. I sucked in a deep lungful of air, then choked on the blood in my throat. Hands pushed my forward as I coughed and gagged. I spat out dried blood.

Once I caught my breath, I looked up. There was another man crouched beside us. His blue eyes studied me intently.

It was too much, I had to look away. I regretted it. Everything was covered in my blood. Even pretty boy. It didn't seem to bother him, as he smiled with relief. "Took you long enough."

"She'll be fine, Dean." There was an odd tension between them.

The taller one came back inside. "It got away," he said. He was out of breath. Then he noticed the new arrival, and stood a little straighter. He circled around the couch to look at me. I could almost see him put the pieces together in his mind as he looked the three of us over. "Glad you're alright," he told me.

I nodded. "How?" They all looked at me, puzzled. "How am I alright?"

They turn to the new guy. "I healed you," he said, as if it were the most obvious thing on the planet. "I am an angel."

My mouth fell open dumbly. I glanced at the other two, looking for some hint that this was some big joke, but they all looked dead serious. I started to hyperventilate. "Why is this happening? Why me?"

The angel didn't react, but the two men hurried to try and calm me. They helped me off the floor to the couch. "My name is Sam," the tall one said, his voice gentle, "and this is my brother Dean. We're not FBI agents, we're hunters. That thing was a shapeshifter, and we need your help to find it."

"My help? I don't know anything!"

The pretty one, Dean, had his hand on my shoulder comfortingly. "When it took your form, it also took your memories. It wanted to replace you. That's why your things have gone missing."

Sam spoke up again. "You can help us find it, but I need you to concentrate. If you wanted to hide a body, where would you take it?" I shook my head, frowning. Absolutely nothing was coming to mind. Sam crouched in front of me. "Now think; it might be somewhere no one knows about but you. A place most people would never look."

My eyes met his, as a thought sprang to mind. "There is one place. An old condemned house near my grandma's farm. My friends and I used to hang out there, but it's not safe. There's an open well at least a hundred feet deep. My grandma always said someone would fall in and break a leg."

They both nodded, their eyes lit up with anticipation. "Bingo," Dean grinned.

"Where is it?" Sam asked. While I gave him directions, Dean and his angel spoke in hushed tones across the room. They seemed to be arguing. I still couldn't wrap my head around this guy being an actual heavenly being, but I couldn't think of a better explanation for my not being dead.

As soon as Sam had what he needed, the brothers rushed out the door. I heard a car start, then gravel under the tires. I never saw them again.

My head was spinning with questions. "Wait," I called to the angel, and he faced me with those intense eyes. I instantly forgot what I wanted to ask him. He waited patiently, unmoving. "What am I supposed to do now?" I finally asked.

He squinted at me. It was a pretty lame question, I'll give him that.

I tried again. "How do I go back to my regular life, after all this?"

He moved closer to me, and it took all my willpower not to back away. "I could erase your short-term memory, if you would like. Some humans do find it easier to remain in ignorance." He raised his hand toward my head.

"No, thank you, no. I'll figure something out. Thanks anyway." I forced a smile.

He nodded, and dropped his arm. "Anything else?" He was disturbingly casual about the whole thing.

"So, it's all true? Heaven, hell, angels, all of it?"

"Yes." He did not elaborate.

"God is real, and the devil?"

He sighed. "God has been missing for some time. The 'devil' I assume you are referring to is actually a fallen angel, Lucifer. He has been dealt with."

"Okay. That's cool." I shrugged, feeling embarrassed.

"If you don't need anything further from me, then…"

"No," I answered quickly. "You can go." Then he left. Not by the door; he was just gone.

I'm not sure how long I stood there in my destroyed living room. There was blood soaked into the rug and part of the couch, a side window was shattered, and the front door hung by splinters. After a while, I went to the kitchen counter to get my phone, and I dialed 911.

When the ambulance arrived, I was sitting on the couch. At the sight of all that blood, they rushed over and began to check my vitals, asking where I was hurt. The police arrived soon after and looked the place over. Of course they found no one. When they questioned me, I shut down, not sure what was safe to tell.

I ended up in the mental ward for two months until I started talking again. The only person to visit me was Jeffery, with a drawing from his youngest that looked suspiciously like two of me. I lost my job, and eventually had to move to a new town for a fresh start. It's hard to make friends when you're known as the crazy chick who believes in monsters.

You're the first person to take my story seriously, and I can't thank you enough for that. It feels like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. Before you contacted me, I'd never heard of the Women of Letters, but it sounds amazing. Let me know when the website is up and running.

Thanks again!

P.S. If you're ever in my neck of the woods, give me a call, I'd love to take you out for a beer.


End file.
